I don’t do Valentine’s Day. My reasons are pretty typical of those who don’t care for the holiday: the artificiality, in ways that are unappealing to me; and also the corniness – but not corny in a fun way, in the way that Christmas is to me, which I find to be both corny and delightful. I don’t begrudge others for enjoying the holiday, because Lucifer knows life is far too short and grim for me to disdain anyone for scrabbling for any glimmer of pleasure and fun – it’s simply not for me.
Mercifully, M is also on the same page re: Valentine’s Day, so we aren’t doing anything for it. But because we were first bros, then best fiends for the first 13 years of our knowing each other, Galentine’s Day is a thing we’ve previously celebrated together.
The first time was two years ago, when I essentially invited myself to M’s house for that year’s Galentine’s shindig. Then last year, I hosted Galentine’s at the Hazel House. Through a comedy of errors – i.e., my own dumbassery — I got the days mixed up. I thought it was on Sunday, but that was incorrect. It was actually on Saturday, which I discovered that Saturday afternoon, when I was out to lunch and started getting texts that read, Hey I’m here, let me in!
(It ended up working out fine.)
Even though we are an item now, M and the usual coterie graciously did not boot me from the Galentine’s tradition. Last night I enjoyed a couple of literally smoky cocktails, ate some peculiar small bites, and got an adorable Galentine from D. It was very much like the Galentine’s Days of the past, with one notable difference: when it was over, I got to go home with my best fiend. Which made this Galentine’s my favorite one yet.
READING: I set aside THE LOTTERY AND OTHER STORIES, Shirley Jackson, a few weeks back to read the new Dresden Files, but have picked it back up
LISTENING: PINKERTON, Weezer